KAH-NAK-TOO’S long legs swung tirelessly. His broad feet seemed scarcely to touch the snow as he skimmed forward, head low beneath the weight of the branching antlers that it bore. Clouds of steam jetted from his nostrils. His mouth gaped game offline seru wide. At frequent intervals, without breaking his stride, he turned his head sideways to snatch a cooling bite of snow. He seemed oblivious of the low, flat sled on which I sat, of the guiding line of sealskin leading from his halter to my hand.
Not a sound broke the silence save the rhythmic click-click of his flying hoofs and the noisy panting of his slot gacor breath as he wound swiftly in and out among the azure ice piles of the frozen Arctic.
I closed my eyes. The rush of icy air drove the breath back into my lungs, went tingling through my veins. Bits Makanan Khas Daerah of snow, flung back by flying hoofs, stung my face. I had the sensation of being hurled alone through space, of being encompassed by infinite isolation.
This isolation expressed itself in a complete absence of color. In the Eskimo village of Wainwright, huddled upon the tundra’s rim above the Arctic Ocean, for nine months of the year montanabrewingcompany whiteness was all we saw — a vast, level expanse of white stretching to the north, to the east, and to the south. On the west lay the Arctic. There icebergs upreared their bulk; pinnacles of ice, like scintillating church spires, pierced the sky; pressure ridges, crushed fifty feet in air by the momentum of meeting ice fields, crisscrossed the pack in all directions, rose, a jagged silhouette, against the western sky.
Out from the shore into that chaos wound the trail leading to the Eskimos’ larder, the ice fields where hours beside a seal hole might furnish sustenance for another day. From the village ratcliffanimalhospital the trail was clearly visible, a discolored, twisting thread, hard-packed by the feet of many dogs and men and reindeer, the weight of many loaded sleds. A fresh snowfall alone blotted it out.